


On Impulse

by LittleSammy



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSammy/pseuds/LittleSammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wrestling a suspect is not quite the same as wrestling Ziva. Sometimes he thinks he might want to be a suspect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Impulse

Tony's falling behind pretty quick because Ziva has the unfair advantage of a more strict routine when it comes to jogging, only half the weight to move and two healthy lungs to top it all off. 

Normally, he wouldn't mind having the chance to watch her perky ass bounce along ahead of him, but when they're following a suspect who is not inclined to come along peacefully, it's a whole different story. Also, he _does_ mind that by now he's wheezing pretty badly, which never fails to put a dent into his self-image.

She vanishes around the same corner the perp has just rounded, and a few seconds after that Tony hears a loud splash that makes him pump his last reserves into his legs. He skids around the corner, and even while he does that he admits it's a pretty stupid thing to do, with not even stopping and drawing his gun, because he could be running into a setup just as easily. 

He doesn't, and a quick glance shows him that Ziva has, true to her form, caught up with the bad guy. Sort of. Currently, she's busy not getting drowned by the giant in the plaid shirt, who is wrestling with her in the fountain she pushed him into. The guy has an advantage there, with being all slippery now, plus he's standing over her and is so heavy she can't handle him easily, especially when he's pressing her down into the murky fountain water.

Tony, as usual, doesn't stop to think. He just redirects his course to tackle the lumberjack, and while the impact knocks the breath out of him he can't help but think that this guy clearly has to work on his image and stop being a goddamn walking stereotype.

The man roars in anger, but Tony rolls to his back and pulls the guy down with him as he falls, and somehow he even manages to twist one of the giant's arms back and clamp his own around the man's throat. He clings to the guy and holds him down with his own weight like a stubborn bulldog, and while he does that, he looks over the man's shoulder and sneaks a glance at Ziva. He has to admit to himself that he mostly wants to see if she caught his flash of heroics. Getting wet sucks, but getting wet while rescuing her... he won't go as far as saying it makes it worth it, clearly, but it makes it a whole lot less sucky.

"You okay?" he yells, and she gets to her feet, and goddamnit, now _that_ was worth it, alright. 

"Yes," she answers and spits out water, and Tony can't help but stare at her open-mouthed while she pushes her dripping hair out of her face and does the whole Bond girl routine for him. Her blouse, a flimsy excuse for fabric even before she got wet, clings to her now like a second skin and gives him such a detailed impression of her anatomy that his own reacts to the sight rather unexpectedly. 

No bra. Pretty cold water, as if he hadn't known that before. 

His grip loosens while he stares, and the perp turns and tries to slip from Tony's hold, but Ziva, stalking over to them like an angry water nymph, grabs both of the guy's ears and twists them in a way that makes the man yelp in pain.

"You don't run from federal officers," she growls and pulls him to his feet, abusing his ears, and Tony loses a few more of his higher brain functions while he watches rivulets of water sneak down her blouse. She's lost a button or maybe two, so there is a lot more skin in sight than there was before the fight, and he can't help thinking that he desperately wants to be that water right now, sliding down her skin just as intimately, and--

That kind of thought doesn't help to get the forming hard-on under control, and he winces when she looks his way and asks him if _he_ is okay. 

He nods and gets to his feet, still out of breath, and Ziva's eyes narrow. Slacks are comfy, but not when wet, and clearly they were not made for hiding the kind of state he is in currently.

"You're kidding me, right?" she says while she is busy twisting the lumberjack's arm behind his back. Tony sees the direction of her stare, and it makes a hot flush creep up his cheeks. Busted. 

And then she actually asks, "That guy turns you on?"

"What? No!" he protests loudly, rearing back and sputtering shocked sounds of denial at her.

Ziva, though, just raises an eyebrow at him, clearly puzzled. "Well, he was your first physical contact in, what, weeks? And unless you started carrying your gun in a _very_ unconventional way--"

"Fuck you," he interrupts her angrily because there is not the usual hint of a smile around her mouth that says she's just messing with him, which means she's serious, and he can't very well tell her that he literally wants to fuck _her_ all the way back to the Yard now, can he?

The lumberjack snorts in amusement, and Ziva turns to him with a frown now, channeling her anger at her partner brushing her off like that into twisting the man's arm just that little notch further that turns the hold into something painful.

"What was that?" she mutters, and Tony feels the good kind of pressure increase even more. Why anyone would even want to resist an angry Ziva is beyond him, really.

"Lady," the man says, and there's a certain amused arrogance in his voice now that shows more brains than his appearance leads to believe. "He's been staring at your tits since he came around that corner."

Okay, maybe not that much more brains. Tony winces in sympathy because she slaps on the cuffs so tight that there's no way in hell this doesn't hurt.

*** *** ***

They actually get home early that day, even though they both spend the rest of the office day in wet, clingy clothes because Gibbs is in one of _those_ moods again. The view across his desk doesn't help Tony's concentration at all, and he breathes a sigh of relief when they're finally allowed to head out. He even takes the stairs because there's no way in hell that he can share an elevator with her while she's damp and unbuttoned.

Now, hours after work, he's home alone and does his best to ignore the fact that the wet fantasy Ziva who accompanied him into the shower earlier wasn't nearly enough to take the edge off. He is so restless by now that he actually jumps at the sharp knock that rattles his door. For a moment he tries to bother with having the urge to throw on something besides the sweatpants he's wearing, but then his mood gets the better of him and he decides that whoever bothers him at this time of night can very well deal with a half-naked Italian.

Ziva certainly can, and her eyes flick down to his bare chest before she can help herself. Slowly, she raises her gaze back up to meet his, and Tony finds that he suddenly has a little trouble breathing. She's soaking wet, and the blouse she's wearing this time is so thin that he could swear he can make out tan lines through the fabric. Her hair is wet, too, and he has visions of her coming out of that damn fountain again, and now he regrets the sweats because they're much too telltale, again.

"Hey," she says, and he swallows at the way her voice rubs against his skin. "Can I borrow a towel? I got caught in the rain."

He nods in silence because he isn't sure he could produce even semi-intelligent sounds right now. When he steps aside to let her in, she gives him a quick once-over again, and he notices that her blouse is gaping open in a way it never does at work. He closes the door, turning away from her carefully. A muscle in his cheek twitches, and he tries to concentrate on breathing evenly.

By the time he comes back from the bathroom and throws her a towel, she has opened two more buttons, and the strip of caramel skin she is showing now extends almost down to her navel. His throat is tight, and he watches her wordlessly while she takes the towel and dabs half-heartedly at her chest. No bra. Just two tight nubs that poke the fabric so hard it has to hurt, right?

"Ziva," he presses out, and he doesn't recognize his own voice. "We didn't have rain in two weeks."

She tilts her head at him while she pulls her blouse out of her pants. "Do you actually care?" she asks.

She's dripping all over his carpet, and he decides that, no. He doesn't give a damn.


End file.
